


Gunpowder Treason and Plot

by Unsentimentalf



Series: Treason and Plot [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Douglas goes to a fireworks party, meets some ex-colleagues and finds out that not everybody thinks he's terrific.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon is rather imprecise about the exact circumstances under which Douglas came to leave Air England. For the purpose of this fic, only Douglas and his employers ever knew the full facts and everyone else has been working on rumour, speculation and Douglas's careful misdirections. Any contradictions between characters' statements on the subject might be seen in this light.
> 
> Contains non graphic violence, coercion and characters a little darker than usual.

Douglas had a very slight case of nerves, he decided, as he looked down on the brightly lit lawn. Below his hotel room window costumed party-goers milled around the buffet tables under the marquee. He was late; a delay landing and then the long drive out here meant he was still to change while the supper was laid out. It wasn't a problem; in fact it might be easier that way.

That was obviously Kathy, still in her sleek black and white wedding dress, and that must be Mark beside her. Douglas had never met him; he'd not exactly kept in touch with this crowd, obviously. The invite had been a rather charming surprise. He'd slept on it for a couple of nights, decided what the hell. It had been months since he'd gone anywhere socially, and he'd always liked Kathy, a sweet girl with a sense of humour. Hence the wedding reception, Hallowe'en themed with fireworks, in the grounds of this rambling country hotel.

Fancy dress wasn't Douglas's first choice of attire, particularly not in these circumstances, but he had always thought he looked rather good in a cape and ruffles. Sufficient to enter into the required atmosphere, not overdone to the point of potential ridicule. From here it looked as if he'd judged it right; there were some people in highly elaborate disguises but most seemed to have been picked with an eye to practicality. He could safely leave the facepaint, brought with him just in case, in his suitcase.

Dressed, he ran his hands through his hair a couple of times, returned to the window. He was prevaricating, he knew. It was near impossible to recognise anyone except the bride from this distance and in costume. No way to know, until he went down there, who he'd meet again. Still, Kathy had wanted him here. On that reassuring thought he smoothed his hair down one last time and set off downstairs.

  
Some time later Douglas was satisfied that coming tonight had been a good idea. He'd kissed the bride, eaten some rather good food, found a whiskey tumbler for his water and chatted to some pleasant strangers. There had been the odd familiar face passing by from his time, but turnover in Air England was still high, and Kathy's new husband wasn't in the airline business; most people here didn't know him from Adam.

Everyone was spilling gradually out of the marquee and down towards the river to watch the fireworks getting underway. He walked down that way with a young pilot and his boyfriend, both dressed as zombies, strolling along a path through the rose garden lit by a string of coloured lanterns. The rest of the party was spread out across the formal gardens on their right, the lanterns in several long chains from house to river. A rocket exploded high above them, then another. It really was very pretty.

Douglas slowed, still talking, moved to one side as a group came up behind.

"There's a lot to be said for big companies. Opportunities, experience, training. But the romance of flying, the excitement; that gets lost somewhere in the scheduled runs and the corporate memos. Now a tiny charter outfit; it's the unpredictability that's the charm. Call of the wild, you might say. Wanderlust. And of course they really value my experience. Leaving AE was one of the best decisions I ever made."

The group from behind had pushed past them and stopped abruptly, turning round. One tall vampire-fanged man came forward to talk loudly and directly to Douglas.

"Of course, being caught with your hand in the fucking till had nothing to do with your decision, did it, Richardson?"

The young men laughed tentatively, taking it for an off colour joke. Douglas took a breath. "Neil. How delightful to see you again. Found something to drink already, have we?"

Neil gestured at the pilot. "Hey, Tel? Ever wondered why we're plagued with fucking on-board searches and bag checks? Because this thieving bastard screwed it up for the rest of us. Know what I think? They should have locked you up, not just thrown you out."

Douglas wasn't taking this moral indignation stuff from a chancer like Neil Fines. "Ah, right. They're making it too hard for you to skim anything now? That's your problem, I'm afraid, not mine."

The young men excused themselves hastily, scurrying off down the path, lit by a fountain of sparks. Douglas couldn't blame them. He glanced at the other two men hanging back, but both had painted faces and he couldn't place them.

Neil had come forward further, aggressively. "Don't call me a thief, you fucking... thief. You've got a fucking nerve, showing your face round here."

Douglas had thought there might be the odd snide remark at his reappearance. He hadn't expected anything this raw and was rather at a loss. He could argue rings round Fines, of course, but that probably wasn't going to help. The mortar boomed and he flinched, then flinched again as the shell exploded in red stars.

"I think it might be a good idea to take your friend somewhere to sober up," he said to the other two men, trying to sound calm and authoritative.

"I think you ought to piss off home and stay there," one of them retorted.

He knew that voice. "Oliver?"

Oliver had been one of his regular co-pilots. Much younger than him; a bit like a more confident Martin in some ways. Douglas had teased him and taught him things in about equal measure. They'd been friends. He spoke to the painted skeleton face. "I've only come to see Kathy married. I'm not here to make trouble. There's no need to be impolite, Oliver."

"Impolite?" The younger man's voice was shaking with anger. "Have you any idea...you told me you were innocent. I spent months while you were suspended trying to convince the company it had made a mistake. Months. I lost friends, got into trouble. And then you just vanished, and they said you'd admitted it all."

"Ah." Douglas didn't have a ready answer to that one. Of course he'd not been entirely truthful; he'd been trying to wriggle out of an extremely serious accusation at the time. He could hardly have been expected to come clean to Oliver, who would have been scandalised. Was scandalised.

"I'm grateful that you tried to help, Oliver. I wish I'd been able to be more honest with you."

"Bullshit." Oliver's response was succinct. "You're not honest, full stop. You used me, and now you think a bit of Richardson charm and I'll forgive you. Not this time, Douglas."

Neil lurched forward and Douglas stepped backwards, nervous. "Back off, Neil. Don't be an absolute idiot. You've drunk a little too much."

The third man had yanked down a loop of the lanterns, was pulling at the line, his foot on the cable. The string of lights flicked out abruptly, leaving the rose garden in darkness. For a moment Douglas couldn't see anything, then a burst of fireworks showed him the three men all intimidatingly close, nothing to be seen but the dark shapes and white facepaint.

This was utterly ridiculous; a bunch of airline pilots in fancy dress trying to scare him in the dark. Douglas opened his mouth to say so, the mortar boomed and a fist hit him hard in the stomach. He doubled over in sudden acute pain and someone kicked him in the shins.

After that he tried to run, but in every direction was blocked by rosebushes or men. The fireworks were in full display; his shouts were drowned by explosions and screams of delight from drunk spectators. It hurt every time they hit or kicked him and he was down, could think of no way to communicate with the inhuman faces seen in flashes of green and orange above him, to get them to stop. The long cloak tangled around a rose bush; for a second he thought the clasp would strangle him but it broke, leaving him on his knees in the dirt in the stupid frilled white shirt, one hand warding his face, the other lower. A kick aimed at his groin smashed into his wrist instead and he screamed, agonised.

Then another voice, effortlessly projected over the chaos of noise and blows. "They're coming to fix the lights. Time to be somewhere else, I would suggest."

"What about him?" Neil, out of breath and panicking. "He'll tell someone."

"Leave him to me."

Douglas, head sagging, felt a stab of terror at the confidence in that voice. He wanted to plead that he wouldn't tell anyone if they'd leave him alone, but he couldn't find his voice. This couldn't be happening. It was all a dark dream. Fireworks crackled and he could hear feet running away. Reluctantly he looked up at the one man left in front of him, his uninjured arm still up in useless defence.

The white pattern on the third man's face had been etched into his memory with the clarity of terror but this man's face, as the sky flickered, was clean. A fourth assailant, then, crooked wizard's hat silhouetted against the lights on the marquee. He struggled to put an identity to the shadow until the man made it easy for him by speaking again.

"Well, Douglas. This is somewhat unexpected." He dropped to his haunches. "Are you all right down there?"

Douglas breathed out, relieved beyond measure. "Hercules. Thank God. No. Everything fucking hurts."

"Ambulatory or ambulance?"

"I don't know." His right wrist hurt like hell but everything else seemed to be working. Herc offered a hand and he staggered up.

"Ambulatory."

"In that case let's get you inside before your friends come back."

Douglas shuddered. "I can't walk though the lobby like this."

"Easily solved."

His reversed cloak covered his torn and filthy clothes. A plastic mask found discarded up by the tent hid the dirt and blood on his face. Douglas leaned on Hercules as he staggered through the brightly lit hotel. Herc was talking to someone; something about being drunk, but Douglas wasn't in any state to listen. A lift, then a short walk and Douglas collapsed thankfully on a hotel bed, cradling his wrist.

The fireworks had stopped, so what was the flash in Douglas's face? He opened his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Evidence. In case you want to talk to the police."

Douglas has had enough of the police and Air England for one lifetime. "It's Kathy's wedding reception. No."

Herc took several more photos. "Still useful to have the evidence." He put his phone down, shrugged out of the bright-starred gown revealing plain black shirt and trousers. "No police, then. How about A&E? Is that wrist broken?"

Douglas moved his fingers slightly, cursing. "Maybe. I'd need an x-ray to be sure. Maybe just sprained I don't know. I ought to get it looked at, I suppose."

"Fifth November isn't the ideal night to turn up at the local hospital," Herc pointed out. "If you don't want to spend the rest of the evening in the company of small children who don't know which end of a sparkler to hold, I can get some ice and painkillers and take you there in the morning."

Douglas nodded, grateful that someone else was making the decisions. The thought of ice on his skin was making him shiver. Shock, he recognised, distantly. Hercules was rummaging in a bag.

"Here; paracetamol and codeine. Water. I'll get the ice. Back in two ticks. I'll lock the door behind me."

Douglas heard the key turn with a relief that he knew was irrational. He took a couple of deep breaths. How utterly crazy this was. Normal adult people- professional airline pilots- didn't attack him. They just didn't. What was the sense in it? People liked him. He was eminently likeable, after all. He was still staring down at the muddy hand cradling his wrist when Herc returned.

"Douglas!"

He lifted his head, slowly.

"Are you still with us?" Herc enquired.

He nodded.

"Good." Herc disappeared into the tiny bathroom. "Let's get that wrist clean and on ice, and then we can see how else your ex-colleagues saw fit to show their admiration." He reappeared, picked up the chair. "Here."

Douglas stood up awkwardly, hobbled to sit next to the sink. Herc started to cut away the lace sleeve.

"Now maybe you can indulge my curiosity. What in the name of all that's rational did you think you were doing coming here tonight, Douglas?" His tone was still conversational.

"Kathy invited me." Fingers brushed Douglas's wrist and he flinched. "I could hardly have predicted a lynch mob."

"Couldn't you?"

There was antiseptic in the water, stinging, the smell sharp. He let the other man gently clean the mud off his immersed arm, taking sharp breaths every time it jarred.

"I lost my job; one would have thought that enough for them. It was years ago and nothing to do with any of them anyway." Not even Oliver. Douglas hadn't asked him to get involved.

"Ah." Herc turned his wrist over carefully. "Surprising as it may seem, I think you have actually managed to underestimate your notoriety. Whatever you may in fact have taken and from whom, the stories that circulated had you preying rather unscrupulously on your colleagues as well as the company. I doubt that anyone believed all of them, but there were plenty to choose from."

He moved the clean arm onto a towel against Douglas's whimpered protests.

"AE's heavy handed response rather fanned the flames, of course. For a while it was all spot checks and audits and you were, somewhat more accurately, blamed for making all our lives a little more difficult than necessary. Most people got over it. It appears that some people haven't."

A roll of bandage appeared. "This will hurt a little."

Douglas swore and winced through a couple of agonising minutes as Herc neatly wrapped and compressed the slightly swollen flesh.

"Still wiggle your fingers?"

"Yes."

"Good." A bag of crushed ice was wrapped around the bandage. "We'll move that as little as necessary, but there's the rest of you to clean up. Starting with your face; it's bleeding. How are the painkillers?"

"Not killing anything," He was sore all over, body and soul; all the drugs were doing was making him woozy. "They just hurt me. It wasn't even a fight. They weren't even drunk. "

"No." Herc ran another bowl of water, started on the rose bush scratches on his cheek.

He took a long time over the application of water and soap and stinging disinfectant to sore and bruised bits of skin. Douglas was feeling too sedated and nauseous to talk much, or even to resist being undressed down to his underwear and wrapped in a clean hotel bathrobe.

"That's the lot. How are you feeling?"

"Sick." A worry crept across his blurred thoughts. "Concussion?"

"No." Herc was reassuringly definite. "Nothing hit your head. It's just the codeine and the shock. Apart from that wrist there's no worse than a few scratches and bruises. Best to sleep it off if you can."

"Back to my room." Douglas tried to stand up from sitting on the bed, found his head spinning and sat back gracelessly.

"I don't think you're in any state to go wandering around, and you're still persona non grata at this gathering. Do lie down, Douglas." Herc removed the ice, glanced at his watch. "I really ought to say goodnight to a couple of people. I vanished rather abruptly even for a magician. I'll be back in half an hour, by which time you will be asleep."

Douglas couldn't imagine how he could sleep but he lay down for want of an alternative, heard the door close, listened for the security of the lock sliding then heard nothing else.

Half asleep he shifted and his wrist protested, waking him. The room was in darkness but he could hear steady breathing from the other side of the bed. He ached, clear headed; the painkillers had worn off. He was underneath the duvet, still wrapped in the bathrobe.

For a while he tried to fall back to sleep again but he was too sore in half a dozen places, and he needed to visit the bathroom. Maybe Herc had left the painkillers out. He reached up for the light switch.

"Are you all right?" The deep voice was sleepy.

"i could use some more of those tablets about now." He pulled himself up, swung his legs to the floor.

Hercules sat up, barechested. Apparently they'd been sharing the duvet. "Sorry." He glanced at the bedside clock. "Not for another hour and a half."

"I'm not going to keel over from taking them a bit early. They're ridiculously over-cautious with their dosages. And I need them. It hurts."

"No." Hercules was definite. "They're much stronger than over the counter stuff, you shouldn't really have them at all without seeing a doctor first and I'm not having you turning into a duck or something on top of everything else. Carolyn would be more than usually cross."

Douglas glared at him in annoyance. It felt a little odd to do that while both sitting up in the same bed. "I presume you have no health and safety objections to my using the bathroom?"

"Be my guest." The man looked infuriatingly amused. It made Douglas realise just how bad things must have been the night before to keep Hercules serious.

He was stiff, hobbling across the bedroom floor, but everything worked. The drawn face that looked back at him in the mirror had a couple of deep red scratches across one cheek and a few shallow ones but nothing worse. His wrist didn't hurt too much if he didn't jar it, hurt like hell if he did. He suspected it was fractured, which meant all sorts of trouble and inconvenience for months. And more pain.

Douglas pulled the dressing gown open, took a look in the mirror at the dark red bruises on one hip and thigh, the purple red on the other shin. There were more bruises on his arms, he thought, couldn't get to them easily. Both hands and knees had stinging grazes with places where tiny amounts of blood had welled from deeper cuts. The night's disorientation had left him, the fear not entirely so. For the first time he decided that he was quite extraordinarily annoyed. Someone- three people- were going to regret this.

He tugged the bathrobe back around him awkwardly with his left hand, returned to the bedroom. Climbing back into bed with Herc was just a little too odd so he sat on the end of it instead, looked at the familiar bland face. Where normally he would have felt only irritation, this time there was a smidgeon of guilt. Herc had undoubtedly come through for him. He had to admit that he'd misjudged the man's superficiality.

"Painful as it is to say it, I am deeply in your debt for last night, Herc. Thank you."

Herc waved a hand, unconcerned. "It was no trouble. Anyone would have done the same. Much as I would like to have you owe me a favour, I can't claim one for that."

"Still, I'm grateful. And I can count on your discretion; this won't of course get back to anyone."

The man laughed. "Now that is a different matter. Bandaging comes free but discretion has a price tag. If I'm going to forego the pleasure of telling the tale I'm going to need to be appropriately compensated."

Douglas wasn't really in the mood to be teased. He ached all over. Still he tried to stay with the conversation. "Would that be liquid compensation, do you think? I imagine something rather nice might be liberated from Carolyn's talons."

"I don't think a stolen bottle of whiskey is going to save you this time,"

Douglas found that he couldn't read the man's smile at all now. Except that it was wider.

"I am entirely sincere about the fun I'm going to have spreading this story around. Why do you think I took photographs, Douglas?"

Oh God. The man might actually mean it. "Why?"

"Because you're still an arrant liar and a thief. You cheated AE and now you cheat MJN every chance you get, and boast about it. You waltz in here shamelessly among the people you let down and you start lying all over again."

Herc's deep voice was smooth and merciless, "I want Carolyn to sit up and take notice of the sort of crook she's hired. I want poor Martin to see past that smarm of yours. Ideally I'd want you too ashamed to hang around at all, but I don't see that happening, unfortunately. But this will be a start."


	2. Chapter 2

Several things suddenly made sense to Douglas. "You were there all along, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't stop them."

"I certainly did stop them," Hercules pointed out. "I doubt that I could have done so any earlier, even had I leapt into the fray on your behalf. Which I didn't do. If I'm going to get physically assaulted it will have to be in a much better cause than saving you a few well earned bruises."

He glanced at the bandage. "I'd have spared you the wrist if I could have, though."

"How kind of you." Douglas pushed back anger; that would come later. He needed to get Herc's silence. He could not afford- could not bear- for the whole Air England fiasco to get dug up again and talked about by everyone.

"Appropriate compensation, you said, for your discretion. So it does have a price tag."

"Probably far beyond what you're willing to pay." Herc pushed back the covers, padded in black boxer shorts to the bathroom.

Douglas took the moment's breathing space to gather his thoughts. For all Hercules' righteousness the man clearly wanted his payment more than the story. He gained very little personally from Douglas's embarrassment, after all. It wouldn't win him any favours from Carolyn, who much preferred to stay deliberately ignorant of inconvenient truths. So this was a matter of negotiating, but carefully. If pushed too abruptly, Herc would undoubtedly do his worst.

Douglas's arm was hurting badly again, his stomach sore. It was 4am in someone else's hotel room, his clothes were ruined, his wrist likely fractured, he'd probably get assaulted again if he turned up for the breakfast he'd paid for, he couldn't even drive himself home and he was about to get blackmailed for Christ only knows how much and how long. He considered himself an expert on turning any given situation to his advantage, but right now he didn't know where to start.

Hercules returned, donned the second towelling gown from out of the wardrobe and sat on the edge of the desk, watching him. There was silence for a few seconds, broken by Douglas, deliberately calm.

"If you're hoping for an amusing reaction, you might as well give up now. This isn't the first time I've been blackmailed. How much?"

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Has it ever occurred to you that most other people don't do things they could be blackmailed about?"

Douglas didn't dignify that with a response.

"How much can you afford?" Herc asked.

Douglas shook his head, unbelieving. "I'm halfway through a divorce and still paying for two homes, with no savings and debts mounting daily. I've got a broken wrist and an employment contract that entitles me to seven days' full sick pay and then peanuts. If you want to do it on that basis, you're going to end up owing me money."

"What about the car?"

"On HP. I couldn't give it to you even if I wanted to." He owned the Lexus outright but the bastard was having it over his dead body. "If you want to write to my solicitor she'll confirm all this. She might wonder why you're asking, of course..."

Herc smiled. "Not necessary. I don't want your money and I certainly don't want that ridiculously ostentatious car. I was just curious."

Douglas kept a rein on his temper, since Herc was clearly trying to make him lose it. "So what do you want, Hercules?"

"Herc, please. And I want you to learn a little humility."

For heavens sake! What was the man's game? "Humility really isn't my thing. What do you think, that I'm going to play act for you? Declaim a little speech about how sorry I am for everything and from now on I'm going to be honest and trustworthy and a credit to my uniform? Really, Hercules!"

The other man leaned back a little, crossed his ankles. Annoyingly relaxed. "Ah, but, you see, I don't want you to confess to a little humility. I want you to experience it. Whether you admit it or not is entirely up to you."

This was beginning to sound worryingly like an intervention. Douglas could do without Hercules Shipwright trying to make him into a better person. On further consideration, however, it was undoubtedly better than stinging him for a large amount of cash he didn't have, or talking to anyone about last night. Run with it for a bit, see where it's going.

"I won't do anything that stirs the whole mess up again," he warned. "If you think you can force me to make some sort of grovelling public statement, you're wrong. I'd rather let you gossip."

"Humility, Douglas, not humiliation. If I wanted the latter I'd just circulate the photos."

"So who is this exercise in humility going to involve?"

"No-one else. Just you and me."

Douglas paused, careful. He wanted to get this absolutely nailed down.

"This isn't going to cost me any money, in any form, now or in the future?"

"No."

"And no-one else will know anything about it? It won't impact my reputation in any way?"

Herc snorted. "Your reputation isn't worth protecting. But no, not at all."

"And when is it supposed to happen?"

Herc glanced at his watch. "You can have more painkillers at five. If we pack up and leave then, we shouldn't bump into anyone else. Fitton Hospital by, say, eight? A&E should be quiet by then. After you get the x-ray results we can work out what to tell Carolyn. Sound all right to you?"

"Possibly," Douglas allowed. He wasn't going to fall for the Good Samaritan act twice.

"That gives us just over an hour to wait till five. That should do."

"And then you delete the photos and give me your word that you'll say nothing?"

"If I get an hour of full co-operation, yes."

Douglas turned this over in his head a few times. He had no idea what Herc had in mind, but he didn't really care as long as it cost him nothing at the end of it. He could jump through any sort of hoop imaginable with the best of them and he didn't for a minute think that Shipwright could come up with anything that would truly bother him, let alone create a state of humility.

"Fine," He smiled warmly at the other man, his mood hugely improved by the prospect of not paying anything after all. "Consider yourself a successful blackmailer. You have my co-operation until 5am precisely, strictly on those terms. I wish you luck with it."

Herc nodded. "You can of course back out at any time. I'm not making you do anything."

Absolute nonsense. "Do you actually understand the principle of blackmail? This is pure coercion, nothing else, and it's frankly despicable as well as thoroughly illegal and just plain ugly. You lost your precious moral high ground about ten minutes ago. If you go through with this you're never going to recover it, and I will take full advantage of that afterwards. I can make your life far more miserable over this than you can mine."

"That's a risk I'll take." Hercules seemed unconcerned. "Right, let's make a start. Take that dressing gown off."

Douglas raised an eyebrow at that, played for some time to think about it. "Interesting. Are you actually intending to run some sort of sexual coercion thing here? I hadn't marked you out as a potential rapist, somehow, but then how little we really know about each other, after all."

"Take it off or call it off, Douglas." Herc wasn't rising to that. It was a hoop. Douglas jumped through it, awkwardly, slowly, hissing at the pain from his wrist, waited. Apparently he was to be allowed to retain his underwear, for now at least.

"If you kneel on the floor there, you can rest your arm on the bed." Herc gestured without rising from his perch on the table.

Sod that. "I can't kneel on the floor. My knees are all messed up and they hurt. And I'm cold."

Herc shook his head. "Did we agree anything about pain and discomfort, Douglas? I don't remember it being mentioned. Money and reputation- that's all you cared about. If I keep having to tell you to do things twice, that's not co-operating."

The man was going to suffer for this so very very much. Douglas dropped heavily to his battered knees facing Herc, laid his right arm out along the bed, glanced at his watch. Five past four.

"That's just going to distract you." Herc came over to unclasp it, tossed it face down on the desk. He pulled the only chair in the room around to face Douglas and sat down. From his position on the floor Douglas could see rather more black haired thigh and boxer short past the loosely wrapped bathrobe than he really wanted to.

"Now. Let's have a chat about what got you fired from AE. How much did you steal?"

Damn. This again. Douglas managed a half shrug. "It wasn't stealing. A little light smuggling, that was all. A few tariffs unpaid. The company overreacted."

Herc shook his head. "I know that's the story you like to tell. Carolyn gave it to me, and it's nonsense. I'm not going to tell you how much I know already, because you'll bend your lies to fit, but if I don't get the absolute truth from you then your payment is null and void."

He was bluffing. He knew nothing. Probably. Douglas was in the ridiculous position of having to rely on his blackmailer's honesty already. In for a penny...

"This goes no further."

"Not a word to anyone."

"So what's the point of knowing?"

"I want to hear you say it."

Douglas sighed, shifted on his sore knees. "All right." He didn't have much choice.

"You might remember when they introduced the new onboard catalogue. Mostly the usual overpriced crap but there were a couple of decent watches, some jewellery. Someone, and I'm not telling you who because that really is none of your business, approached me with a business proposition. If I could walk off the plane with three or four of these every week, they could fix the stocktake records from the ground side of things. I found a regular buyer and the thing was sorted."

"Why did they approach you in particular?"

Douglas looked straight up at Herc, unflinching. "Ah, that was the little light smuggling I mentioned. I had a couple of contacts in admin. Word got round."

He shook his head, remembering, annoyed with the whole stupid thing. "We didn't make much, certainly not for the risks we took. Couple of hundred pounds a week each, maybe. But it was fun getting hold of the things; generally I managed to get to them before the cabin crew had a chance to see what the supplies looked like, but sometimes it ended up rather more sophisticated than that."

"How long did you do it for?"

"About six months. I was getting a bad feeling about it; I was running out of ideas and resorting to pulling the same tricks twice, which is never smart. We were already discussing calling it off when I got caught."

"How?"

This bit still made him wince. "Someone must have figured it out and decided they'd run a little scam of their own. On one long haul flight a lot of money and valuables went missing from crew, some passengers. There was a bit...quite a lot... of a scene before we landed and three watches were found on the flightdeck. The other stuff taken during the flight never turned up, but I got blamed, of course; why multiply thieves unnecessarily? Someone on that flight made about three grand that day at my expense but I could never get the investigators to listen."

He grimaced. "It was a neat trick though. I've got to give them that."

Herc was watching him intently. "That was pretty systematic theft. Why weren't you prosecuted?"

"AE could only ever pin that one incident on me and not even that for certain; I didn't have the goods actually on me when they found them. They were pretty sure I'd been taking stuff for months but they never found out about the other guy and they never broke the records. So in the end they settled for just firing me with extreme prejudice."

He was trying to remember if he'd ever actually told that story to anyone before. He thought probably not. With time it had become less explosive; he doubted that Air England would take any more action now after all that time had passed even if they found out the full extent of it. He did wonder what Carolyn would make of it, though.

"So you lost your job and destroyed your career for what...five, six thousand, total? That's rather unimpressive."

"Undoubtedly. We should have found some way to leverage the takings and get out faster. But then hindsight is a wonderful thing." Hercules could go whistle for his damn humility. "Is there a good reason why I'm not permitted clothes, by the way, or do you just like staring at my crotch?"

"You do think you're tough." The deep voice was amused, still.

"That's because I am." Douglas wondered what the time was. His bruised legs were starting to ache. His wrist felt like hell. "Did you think it would be enough simply to make me recite my misdeeds? I really don't care about my misdeeds as long as they're kept quiet. I would like to know about the clothes though."

So far, he reckoned, Herc hadn't managed to lay a glove on him. He could think of half a dozen next moves for the man; which would Herc take?

"Tell me about Martin."

"About Martin?" That hadn't been any of the six. "Why on earth Martin?"

"Just do it."

Douglas frowned slightly. "What sort of thing do you want to know?"

"Just tell me about him."

"Very well. Martin's an insecure man with a lot to be insecure about. He's unsuited to his job in almost every respect; he's anxious, he panics, he thinks too slowly, he can't deal with people and he struggles with technical recall, though he's otherwise intelligent enough. He's got his life into a thorough mess because Carolyn exploits him mercilessly and he spends a great deal of time being worried and miserable."

Herc was expressionless. "Do you like him?"

"Like him? I suppose so. He's reasonable company on the flight deck, when he isn't panicking or trying to throw his meagre weight around. He's pleasingly easily impressed and he doesn't annoy me by merely existing, unlike some pilots I could mention, and of course he's never yet tried to blackmail me, which is an undoubted plus. So yes, I like him well enough. Can we get back to the clothes issue?"

"Do you think he likes you?"

"What is this- an episode of Blind Date? Yes, he likes me. Unlike you, however, he seems content to do so while I keep my clothes on. You can't keep ignoring the question, Herc. What's with the whole undressed thing? Power trip, sexual kink, or both?"

That got a flicker of something; discomfort? You're well out of your depth, Shipwright, Douglas thought with satisfaction. He could undermine Herc much faster than the man could retaliate. Herc was prodding for weaknesses that didn't exist, while Douglas was merely picking up on everything he left unguarded in the process. Douglas shifted and caught his breath, loud in the quiet room, as the pain in his wrist flared again,

"Stay there." Herc walked out of the room. Douglas heard the key turn. He pulled himself to his feet, swearing at cold stiff joints, flipped the watch on the table over. Only four fifteen. God. He replaced the watch as it had been, went back to his position by the bed, twisted to put his head and other arm down on the covers, close his eyes for a bit. His wrist was aching really badly now.

Douglas guessed it was less than five minutes before Herc came in. He didn't bother to disguise his weariness as he lifted his head. Let the man feel guilty as hell. He had earned it.

"Ice." Herc held up the bucket. "We ought to take another look at that wrist."

"Or," Douglas said tensely, "we could wait until I've had some more painkillers. Or is inflicting a bit of extra agony part of your charming little plan?"

"If you like we can call it that," Hercules said cheerfully. He found some more bandage, scissors and a bag for the crushed ice, sat down on the bed. Douglas's heart was racing. "You're not seriously proposing to do this now?"

"It needs doing."

"Sadistic bastard. Where are the bloody painkillers?"

Hercules lifted his head from the supplies, looked straight at him. "Of course if you won't co-operate, I'll have to leave it until later."

"You...what are you getting out of this? What's this got to do with anything, Herc? It's just sadism."

Hercules shrugged. "That wrist's been troubling you more and more since you woke up. The joint's no longer held straight, there's swelling around the edges of the bandage and it will be much less painful once it's rebandaged and on ice. I think it should be sorted out now, rather than waiting until you can take painkillers and they have a chance to kick in.

He smiled at Douglas, smugly. "Given our current circumstances, I'm in a position to make that decision. All you need to do is decide whether to co-operate or to refuse and put up with the significant amount of discomfort you're in until analgesia is available. And of course the knowledge that I'm going to be showing those photos around."

He picked up the scissors. "Also I'm interested to know how far your rather marked fear of physical pain extends, but that's just a bonus. It needs redoing now, Douglas."

Everyone had a marked fear of physical pain, didn't they? It hurt. Douglas looked at the scissors, imagined the bandage coming off, the blood pulsing through the swollen flesh, the pain. And then another bandage wrapping around, tight, agonisingly tight.

He didn't have a choice. "Go on," he said, hearing the shake in his own voice.

"Hold still." Herc took hold of the top edge of the bandage, slid the edge of the scissors underneath. It was going to hurt. Douglas panicked.

"No!" He jerked his arm away, screamed at the fire burning through it, curled up on the floor, cradling it. "Don't!"

"Douglas. Let me just look at it."

"No!" There were tears in his eyes, not all from the pain. "Leave me alone!"

"I won't touch it. I do need to look. If it's hurting that much..."

"No! Don't hurt me!"

There was a silence. Herc got up, moved out of sight. Douglas held onto his arm and whimpered. Then Herc knelt down in front of him with a glass.

"Here," He tipped two white tablets into Douglas's mouth, brought the water up for him to swallow them. "They'll take a few minutes. We'll risk the whole duck thing this once."

The duvet was tugged off the bed, wrapped around Douglas's shoulders. "We'll get the rest of you warm, but I'd like to put some ice round that arm, see if we can get the swelling down before we touch the bandage again. All right?"

Douglas nodded, shivering. He just wanted it not to hurt any more. Remotely he knew he'd lost; he'd deal with that later. He flinched as the ice was lain gently around the bandage, but within a few minutes he could feel the pain lessening as that and the painkillers took effect.

"You need to get back on the bed," Herc said, firmly. "You're going to keel over any minute now." Obediently he let himself be helped up, covered in the duvet. He was so tired...

"Douglas! Stay with me for a moment. I need to take that bandage off now."

This time he let Herc snip away the white bandage. The pain felt rather distant, as if it were happening to some one else. It did lessen considerably once the puffy but unmarked wrist was rebound.

He must have fallen asleep because Herc was shaking him gently. "Everything's in the car. I've brought some of your clothes over. Then we're ready to go."

Asleep again during the long drive, he was woken at the hospital. Herc stayed with him, without conversation, during the long wait for the x-ray and the longer one for the results. It was nearly noon when he was discharged with a compression bandage, a sling, a prescription for painkillers considerably less powerful than the ones Herc had given him and an idiot's guide to treating sprains. He still couldn't quite believe that it wasn't fractured.

Herc drove him to the flat, brought his stuff in from the car. Paused in the doorway, waiting.

Douglas sighed. "We had better have some coffee and talk." The codeine had long since worn off; he could think straight again. In the circumstances he wasn't sure that he liked that much.

By the time Herc brought two mugs in from the kitchen Douglas had steeled himself. He put his drink to one side.

"Is there anything I can do to get you to erase those photos and keep quiet?"

Herc pulled his phone out of his pocket, came to sit next to Douglas. "I'd let you do it, but it's going to be awkward with your left hand."

He pulled up a photo. Douglas looking muddy, dishevelled, bloodied and badly shaken. Pressed delete, pressed confirm, repeated half a dozen times.

"I suppose that you did get your moment of humility," Douglas was too tired to be sharp about it. He'd lost, after all.

"Yes, I suppose I did. But I'm not particularly proud of it."  
.  
"That makes two of us." Douglas had always assumed that he would be naturally courageous in the face of pain and danger. The memories of his abject terror in the rose garden, and his reaction in front of Herc were frankly horrible.

Herc wrapped his hands around the coffee. "That wasn't what I intended."

"No. You just wanted to shake me up a bit, get me off balance, vulnerable, so that you could stir up those deep seated feelings of guilt and remorse that had to be in there somewhere." Douglas could hear the bitterness in his own voice. "It didn't occur to you that I might be both truly amoral all the way down and a complete coward."

"To be honest, no." Herc's normally smooth voice was distinctly ragged. "Exploiting your pain was completely unforgivable, regardless. I became rather frustrated and it seemed the only way I could to get to you. I didn't think I was capable of doing anything like that."

"Is that a moment of humility, by any chance, Hercules?"

"More than a moment."

"Well," Douglas said, slightly cheered, "at least one of us is filled with guilt and remorse. Not a night completely wasted then. Did you egg those men on to attack me?"

"Lord, no! I met them looking for you, thought they'd give you a well deserved earful and that I'd rather like to watch that. I hadn't anticipated violence."

"Neither had I." Douglas picked up his coffee in his left hand. "Infuriating. I now have to plot three men's downfall, and I'm sufficiently lazy that that's annoying."

"Only three?" Herc was cautious.

"Oh, you're already thoroughly done for. I did tell you that you were losing the moral high ground for good but you wouldn't listen."

"I wouldn't say that I'd ceded it to you, however." Herc commented. "You haven't done anything remotely moral, after all."

"Really? This is then, I suppose, a perfect moment for some grand gesture of forgiveness." Douglas smiled at Herc. "And the moment passes. I don't have any use for the high ground, particularly; I just like seeing you struggling in the mire."

He finished off the drink. "Talking of which, how about buying me lunch while I tell you exactly what you're going to tell Carolyn happened last night? You're going to like the story. Everything turns out to be entirely your fault. Sushi, I think. Easy one-handed."

Herc shook his head, despairing. "That is definitely the last time I scrape you up from the mud, Richardson. Next time you can stay down there. Come on then. You can tell me your story and I'll tell you what I'm not going to say and we can come to some sort of agreement based on the sound and reliable principles of mutual blackmail."

Douglas laughed. "There, you see. Isn't that an improvement on all that stuffy do-goodery? You and I might even find we get on rather better in future."

"What a delightful thought. I wouldn't count on it for a moment." Hercules opened the door, held it for him. "After you, Douglas."

"Thank you, Hercules."

 

"A rosebush."

"Yes."

Carolyn turned to Herc. "And dancing. With a goat."

"Not an actual goat, of course. That would have been ridiculous. A rather nice young lady dressed as a goat. But definitely dancing," Herc assured her. "It was quite impressive. Until the bush incident, of course."

"Which you caused with your...pointed staff?"

"We were in fancy dress costume at the time," Herc reminded her. "And it wasn't entirely my fault. He wasn't looking where he was going at the time. I think he was watching the goat."

"Right. And the net result of all these convivial antics is that my pilot is broken."

"Temporarily incapacitated," Douglas corrected.

"Quite. Well, Herc. Thank you for your trouble. I imagine he made a great deal of fuss."

"Yes, he did!" That was heartfelt. Douglas stifled a laugh.

"I am going to leave him on your doorstep, now. I have a long drive back and a flight early tomorrow."

Carolyn nodded. "I need to talk to him about flight cancellations anyway. No doubt you'll be back. That seems to happen, I've noticed."

"Indeed it does." Herc sketched a bow, smiled at Douglas and left.

Carolyn led the way into the house, sat down in her office. There wasn't another chair; Douglas stayed standing.

"Are you going to tell me what actually happened, Douglas?"

"But I have."

She sighed. "I'll take that as a no. I will find out, you know."

She wouldn't, not this time. "By all means investigate to your heart's content. But you have been told the truth, and what's more, by both of us."

"That's what makes it particularly suspicious. I hate to think that you've corrupted poor Hercules."

"Really, there is no need to feel sorry for him, I assure you. Not for an instant. Flight cancellations."

"Yes." She contemplated Douglas's sling. "When is the absolute earliest that you can fly?"

"Interesting question. I'm perfectly capable of flying a plane with one hand, at a pinch. So if Martin did the take-offs and landings..."

"We'd only have the CAA fines to worry about. And the suspension of your licence. Not to mention the potential for the exciting discovery somewhere above the Atlantic that you can't fly with just your left hand after all. Let's keep this slightly legal, shall we? When can you fly using both hands?"

"Both hands as in take over from Martin if necessary even if it hurts a bit, or both hands as in smooth and painless?"

"The first one. Your pain doesn't much interest me."

"Odd that. It interests everyone else," Douglas muttered to himself. Then aloud. "Given that I'll have to fake a rather faster recovery than that for Martin to be happy, it will need to be out of this sling. Say ten days minimum. And if I actually have to do anything with that arm in the next couple of weeks it will get rapidly worse again."

"No sooner?"

"Not even I can convince either Martin or random CAA inspectors that's it's healed with the damn thing still unusable, Carolyn. Physiology, I'm afraid."

"Ten days. This party of yours is going to cost me a great deal."

He shrugged, one sided. "Accidents happen."

"Indeed they do." She was studying his face. "There's something going on between you and Hercules, Douglas."

"I assure you that neither of us are that way inclined." He tried the light touch.

"Not that. You didn't say thank you'"

"To Herc? The whole thing was his fault."

"It was, as you just said, an accident. He drives you halfway across the country in the wrong direction for him, waits around half the day at the hospital for you, drives you here so that he can corroborate your highly dubious story and you don't have a word of thanks for him when he leaves. A failure of common courtesy is not normally one of your many character defects, Douglas."

Damn the woman. "Oh, Herc knows how grateful I really am. We're two middle aged men, after all. Neither of us like to get too emotional about things. It's not dignified."

The bang of an early firework shattered the foggy afternoon quiet outside the window and he flinched, startled for an instant back into the rose garden. He looked out into the garden, unwilling for a moment to meet the curiosity he'd seen flicker in his employer's eyes. "They start them earlier every afternoon."

"Yes." She sighed. "Do take care, Douglas. I don't want my pilots any more broken than they are already."

Yesterday he would have had half a dozen witty rejoinders. Today he just nodded acknowledgement.

"Well, if I'm going to be paying you for ten days of uselessness you can at least catch up on paperwork. You can dictate it to Arthur. And Martin can pick you up while you can't drive."

"Wonderful. Martin's van and ten days of Arthur's idiosyncratic approach to transcription. You spoil me, you know."

"I do," she said, confidently and accurately. "Arthur will drop you back home. I need to cancel half a dozen bookings. I'll get Martin to pick you up tomorrow, ten am. Try and get some sleep, Douglas. You look distinctly ragged."

He felt ragged, undoubtedly, but as Arthur chattered nonsense on the drive home Douglas started to regain his confidence, feel more like himself again. Here, at Fitton nobody wanted to hurt him, nobody knew his weaknesses, nobody tried to exploit them. There was nothing to be afraid of.

"What did you just say?"

"Gunpowder raisins and pot. You know the rhyme; Remember remember the 5th of November, gunpowder raisins and pot."

"I think you mean Gunpowder, treason and plot, Arthur."

"Yeah, but we don't have any of that stuff any more, do we? That's history stuff. Raisins and pot thought, we have those."

"I suppose so." Treason and plot. He murmured the rest of the rhyme under his breath, watching the brilliant circles of coloured sparks expand high up outside the car windows.

"For I see no reason why gunpowder treason   
Should ever be forgot."

There were people who wished him harm, waiting out there in the darkness, and he'd bring them down somehow, even if he wasn't brave enough to face them again in the night. He didn't even have a third name yet but he'd get it from Hercules, treacherous, repentant Herc. From now on until he'd done it and probably for a long time afterwards he'd remember the fifth, whether he wanted to or not.

The End


End file.
